Reverse Psychology

I look at my list again. Here's what it says.

Husband - Divorced - pain. Discouragement - Mark in his custody.

No job - counselor post offered - should/should not take. why.

Have to pay rent - after divorce - find better environment.

How to connect with Mark again.

Cabbage.

I take out a pen and immediately scratch the last thing on my list. Cabbage. I already bought that.

I look around me again and feel a sense of hope ballooning inside me. Maybe change is possible. Maybe after I talk to this counselor, maybe, just maybe I can patch up my life again.

My session starts at 4:00, and there about five minutes left. I scan my surroundings again. There are little kids on the carpet, playing with toys, there are large posters on the wall telling us that we can do whatever we want to, all we have to do is try. There is a large Tweety Bird staring at me from the other wall. The walls are painted warm colors, comforting shades of blue and light yellow and orange.

'Mrs. Deeney, your turn,' A woman wearing a bright blue nurse's uniform taps my shoulder.

'It's Ms. Deeney,' I say through gritted teeth, and allow the woman to show me the way.

'Here we are, ' she finally says and points to a door, painted purple.

'How dare you! - No, you don't get it! Shut up!' I hear faint, ok, not that faint, shouting from behind the door. I look at the nurse in alarm.

She shakes her head, 'Don't worry Ms. Deeney, Dr. Fern Itcher is slightly...uh, different, but still a very effective doctor.'

She opens the door and we both get a glimpse of Dr. Itcher, a plump blonde haired woman screaming into the phone.

Even the nurse can't hide her surprise, but she pushes me forward and softly says, 'Dr. Itcher, your patient, Ms. Deeney is here. She's a first-timer here.'

The woman doesn't even look the nurse's way.

Dr. Itcher's room is a large one. There's a black reclining chair, and after standing awkwardly at the doorway for two seconds, listening to Dr. Itcher's, 'No! Listen to me, you daft dumbo! Oh, yes, hon, I just called you that. Oh no, you didn't!', I decide to sit down.

Finally she slams the phone down and for the first time, since I came inside, looks at me.

'My dear husband, that sweet darling,' She says, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, 'doesn't know the difference between soya milk and regular milk.'

I decide to respond to this rather strange proclamation by giving her the wide-eyed-confused look.

There's a pause.

 I decide to take advantage of this fact by starting, 'My name is -'

'In fact,' Dr. Itcher says sitting down in her seat behind her desk, 'My husband doesn't know the difference between anything. It doesn't matter to him whether the shower curtain is open or closed when he bathes, nor does he know the difference between green and blue. Green clashes with pink, but blue doesn't. But of course, my color blind, lazy ass husband doesn't care.'

 I'm staring at her now, open mouthed.

'I'm sorry, ' she says, shaking her head.

I let out my held breath, and feel a sense of relief, 'Oh, it's quite all right..'

'I'm sorry. The person I should be complaining about is my brother. At thirty two, with no job and a pot belly, he still thinks he can attract women. He stops at my house every Sunday hoping to catch me with one of my girlfriends. Of course, my husband doesn't mind. Birds of a feather flock together, don't they?' Dr. Fern looks at me in the eye, as if daring me to go against what she's saying.

'I, well speaking of women, my husband decided -'

'Yes, speaking of women, can you believe that my brother was considered a catch? He used to work in the army. That's where he met my brother-in-law. My brother in law..' Her gaze drifts and I realize what must have happened.

'Oh, I'm so sorry.' I quickly say.

'Yes, I'm sorry too. My brother in law actually came back alive. Now he lives to control our lives. My husband has absolutely no spine of his own, and Older Brother is his constant mentor. What a dictator.' She huffs.

I know a thing or two about being told how to live constantly. 'You should tell him yourself. That you don't appreciate his constant mentoring,' I say.

Dr. Itcher looks at me, 'I've tried. But he's a soldier, who can go against him? Every time I say anything, he goes all, 'While you  were partying, I was busy defending my country.' How can you argue with that?'

I consider this for a moment. 'Don't counter it, go around it. You're a counselor, tell him you've counseled his fellow soldiers and tell him that they thought he was too bossy,'

'Hmm...' Dr. Itcher closes her eyes for a minute, 'so...lie?''

'Alter the truth, more like.'

'Well, I've tried altering the truth with my son. You know, the birds and bees, and all that? But he knows everything. How many second graders do you know who ask for Axe Men's Perfume for Christmas?'

I burst out laughing.

Dr. Itcher shakes her head, 'My daughter  is no better. We disagree about everything. Brands, boys, bands, everything. She just thinks she's right about everything.'

'You have to show them who's boss,' I say, 'I was a teacher for quite some time, teaching ninth graders, that too. You have to be firm, it's the only way that works. If you have a hard time, practice in front of the mirror.'

'I don't have the energy for anything. As if counseling isn't exhausting enough.' Dr. Itcher says, 'I'm an excellent counselor, though I don't really know what I do. All my patients say they have a change of perspective. I don't know what I do, I suppose it's innate.'

Change of perspective? I see what they mean. Suddenly, my problems don't seem that bad. I think.

'And don't even get me started on my patients. They are all so exhausting, always trying to tell me their  problems as if my life isn't hard enough. You know the other day....'

Suddenly the door bursts open.

'Excuse me, Ms. Deeney, I'm afraid your time is up.' The same nurse who led me to the room is speaking.

'Oh, well then,' I say, 'Nice to meet you, Dr. Fern.'

The doctor nods at me.

As the nurse leads me out, she asks, 'So, how was it?'

I shrug. Surprisingly, I'm feeling better. At least I've decided something on my list.

As I leave the center, I take out my mobile phone and dial a number.

'Hey, Mom. How are you? Yeah, remember the counseling post that was offered to me? I think I might take it...'